


The FAO Schwartz Affair

by LadyRa



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-14
Updated: 2003-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRa/pseuds/LadyRa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon reminisces with Illya about why he chose him as his partner</p>
            </blockquote>





	The FAO Schwartz Affair

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a short fanfic. It's only 12 pages. Amazing!

I encourage you to move up a little, until your naked body lies close to my side, your head on my chest. My fingers play with your silky hair and I find myself consumed with gratitude that you are a part of my life, the best part of my life. "Illya?" I ask.

You grunt and it makes me smile. I know that your preference after making love is to surrender to the sleepiness of satiety. But you know that I sometimes like to talk. I can feel you waiting for me to introduce the subject matter so you can decide whether to be gracious or not. Most of the subjects I introduce get met with a second grunt, and I am left with the choice of staying silent or talking to myself.

I hope this subject engages you. I think it will. "Do you ever wonder why I chose you as my partner?"

You actually lift your head and look at me, your blue eyes so crystal clear and beautiful that my throat thickens, and when I swallow, it hurts. "Yes," you say. Nothing more. Just yes. Yes, you have wondered. Yes, I have permission to speak.

I smile at you, stealing a brief kiss and prepare to tell the story. "Once upon a time--" I shy away as you pretend to jab me in the side with a well-placed elbow. "Do you want me to tell the story or not?"

You let out a long suffering sigh, but I see right through you. You won't be able to resist. I wait, forcing you to say the words. You flop down on your back, and let out another sigh, as if acquiescing to my unreasonable demands will take all of your strength. "You may tell it."

I snort. Spoken like royalty. You are a naked Russian Czar in my bed, in our bed. I pull you closer and start again. "Once upon a time, the old wizard Waverly was after me to pick a partner, and he wanted me to choose one of the new recruits." I drop the fairy tale motif for the time being and just tell the story. "There were five of you. Do you remember?"

You nod and roll to your side so you can see me better.

Of course you remember. You remember everything. "Based on Cutter's recommendations, I'd narrowed it down to three of you."

"Which three?" you ask.

"Be patient. I'll tell you." I steal another kiss. I love your mouth. I tear my eyes away from your full bottom lip, afraid if I look at it too long that my story will end up waiting for another day, and now is when I have your attention. "I decided that the best thing to do was to go on a mission with each of you, and see how we worked together. So I started with Myofsky."

A sour expression crosses your face and I laugh. I know he's not your favorite person. Truthfully, I don't think he's anyone's favorite person. Maybe he's changed. He's not with UNCLE anymore.

I continue my story. "He was skilled enough, but something about him just rubbed me the wrong way. I couldn't imagine being paired up with him."

"I can't imagine that you even considered him."

Your remark prompts me to slap your ass with the flat of my hand. I caress you to take away the sting then force my attention back to my story. "At the time, almost everyone at UNCLE could have said the same thing about you, you curmudgeon, you."

You give me one of your secret smiles. They're one of the reasons I fell in love with you. Those smiles of yours, so stingingly doled out. "Go on," you say, trying not to appear too eager.

I smile back, knowing that my reason is nothing you expect to hear. "Then there was Oberson."

You snort. Easy for you to say. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. 

"Be kind. He also had good skills, and our mission together was a success."

"Why didn't you pick him, then?" 

I can hear the temper in your voice. "Now, who's telling this story?" You sigh and I hold back a grin. "Then there was you. Certainly skilled enough. And smart enough. And our mission was a success as well. But--"

You look up at me, a clear warning in your eyes of possible repercussions if you do not like how this story ends.

It's a good try on your part but you don't intimidate me. Not any more, at any rate. "You were about as friendly as a cockroach. You had no conversational skills, had a chip on your shoulder the size of Russia, and you made it quite clear you were barely tolerating my presence."

"I don't think I like this story." I can hear the pout in your voice. I love that about you too. That you pout. I know, I've got it bad; but I don't really mind. You've got it bad, too. 

I laugh and hold you tightly. "Even if I promise you it has a happy ending?"

You add a glare to your pout and threaten me, your words dark and dire. "It had better."

I laugh again. Now that you have opened yourself to love, you are so greedy for it, unwilling to share any of me even with shadows from our past. I know it is foolish, but it makes me feel a hundred feet tall. "The story has a very happy ending, but first there is the obligatory angst and perceived parting of the ways, like any good fairy tale."

You humph and scowl, showing me that you are withholding judgment until more evidence is in. That's my Illya, wanting all the facts. I can't resist, and lean down to kiss you again. Your kisses are like a drug that I grow more addicted to over time. 

You finally pull back and poke my side with your finger. "Well? Go on."

I bite back a smile. Your curiosity is always your undoing. Well, that, and the fact that I know you want to hear me talk about our happy ending, even though you were there for it and know it as well as I. But I know when I say the words 'and they lived happily ever after' that your eyes will sparkle and shine, and you will make sweet love to me in a way that will make my heart ache with love for you.

I continue. "I--" I hesitate for a moment because the last thing I want to do is hurt you, but this information is essential. 

You reach up a hand and touch my face. "Let me guess. You chose Oberson." I see that it is painful for you to say and to even think about, but it is a sign of your love for me that you say the words to keep me from hurting you.

"I love you." And I do. More than I have ever loved anyone.

You reach up this time and kiss me. Then you pretend to scowl. "If you keep getting distracted you'll never finish." 

I run a hand down your back until I am running fingers over your ass. You have the most perfect ass. I sigh. "The problem is that you present me with such lovely distractions."

You roll your eyes, but I know you love my sweet talk. When we are in the heat of passion you beg me to whisper loving words in your ear. As if they hold the same power to arouse you as my hands and mouth do. I don't mind, the words are always there, right on the tip of my tongue.

I go back to my story. "Yes, I decided that Oberson would be the lesser of three evils, so to speak." I grin down at you and find that you are rolling your eyes again. "But, for some reason, I was reluctant to go to Waverly and take that last step toward making him my partner. I found my thoughts drifting toward you." 

Now you are grinning that superior smile of yours. I ignore it, just as I have the eye rolling. If I allow every reaction you make to stop my story-telling we could be here for days. Not that I would mind that. There are few places I would rather be than naked in bed with you.

You make an impatient spinning motion with your hand telling me to keep going. 

I comply with your unspoken command. "It was a Thursday. The day started with a briefing by Waverly. You sat against the wall, arms crossed over your chest, eyes defiant, daring anyone to come near you. It was how you often sat, or stood, or walked." I grin at you again. I do not know how to explain how it feels to me that you let me in, past those walls of yours, allowed me to breach your high security prison.

"I was between missions and had a mountain of paperwork to attend to. After the briefing I worked at my desk all morning, and then went down to the commissary for lunch. You were getting your lunch, not talking to anyone except to bark out your lunch order. Mitzi, from transcription, tried to talk to you, and you, well you weren't exactly rude, but you--" I hesitate. I don't really want to insult you.

You let out a snort. "I was rude, Napoleon. It's all right, you can say it."

I comb my fingers through your hair. "Yes, you were, but I could see that you weren't trying to be. After she turned away, I saw this look in your eyes, and it seemed to me that you wished you could call her back, try again, as if being friendly was something you just hadn't figured out yet." I keep touching your hair. It is so soft. It always amazes me how soft it is. "That was when I decided to observe you."

That makes you sit up. "You were watching me?" I can tell that you are surprised that I could watch you without you being aware of it.

I give you a look. "I am a spy, you know." I am a good spy, and you know it. It is why you remained my partner.

I see that your eyes are laughing at me. I am tempted to stop my storytelling to run my hands and mouth over your body, but I pull back from the precipice.

I continue. "You spent some time down in the lab and in the file room. I saw you ignore an occasional insult about your place of origin." I remember that those insults made me angry. We, as agents of UNCLE, have good reasons to decry many people of the world for their harsh and wrongful acts, but here you were, trying to fight the good fight by our side, and we were lumping you in with them. 

I decide I have to hug you, so I do. And even though there is no need, I tell you anyway. "If I could remember who those people are now, I would go shoot them for you."

You let out a short laugh and I can feel the exhaled air against my neck. You push back and gaze up at me, batting your eyelashes. "My hero."

I laugh back at you. "Well, it is my story, so of course I get to play the hero."

You shoot me a narrow-eyed look. "Who am I, exactly, in this fairy tale of yours?"

I cock my head at you, wondering what I can get away with without getting pushed off the bed. I decide I like where I am. "The other hero, naturally."

That answer satisfies you, so you lie back down again, waiting for me to proceed. "I watched you go through your day with minimal interaction with anyone, shying away from any women who approached you, ignoring the less than subtle taunting from our less enlightened comrades, and I found myself--"

You gaze up at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence. When I continue to stay silent you touch my lips with your fingers. "What? You found yourself what?"

I try to remember as best I can so I can put words to it. "I found myself drawn. Like an abstract piece of art can draw you, appeal to you, speak to something deep inside, while making no sense at all." I look down at him. "May I ask you a question?" I find myself wondering if you found yourself drawn to me, prior to our friendship.

Your gaze looks startled momentarily as if my formality threw you, then you give me a small smile. "Anything."

I hesitate and then decide to leave that story for another night. I shake my head. "I'll ask you later." Your eyes ask me if I'm sure, and I am, so I continue. But, first, I smile at you. "Are you liking this story?"

"I might if you ever finish it." The corners of your lips are turned up and it softens your words. "You were saying you were drawn to me. Which I find impossible to believe, but go on." You start to look a bit lost.

I know you find it impossible to believe that I was drawn to you back then. You sometimes find it hard to believe that I am drawn to you now. I think it is why you need the loving words so much, to help convince you that my love for you is genuine. I know you do believe, in the deepest parts of yourself, but you need occasional reassurance.

"Yes, well, I found it a bit hard to believe myself." Ah, that got the glint back in your eyes. I start again, before you can skewer me with your sharp wit. "I followed you when you left that day, watched as you bought some kielbasa for dinner, and as you wandered into several bookstores. You still barely spoke, and I saw how you moved down the street, staying closed up, until you were almost invisible to the people passing you by." I remember that it had been close to Christmas, and you seemed so unaffected by any of the Christmas paraphernalia.

You sigh. "It was not a good thing to be noticed when I was growing up, Napoleon. And even in this country, it was not a good thing to be Russian."

It is irrational, I know, as you are one of the deadliest people I know, but I often feel this need to protect you from the world. Perhaps that is because I am one of the only people, maybe the only person, who knows just how easily you can be hurt, inside, where no one else sees. 

It's time for a kiss, and you welcome me in your arms, your mouth opening, drawing my tongue inside. We tenderly explore each other, my tongue enjoying the taste and texture of you, as if I hadn't just had my fill minutes ago. I never grow tired of you. And it seems as if you feel the same.

We kiss for some time, leisurely kisses, our hands gently caressing, making silent promises of passionate intimacy to come. I pull back, gently nibbling at your lips, nipping at your jaw, enjoying the sensation of stubble under my lips. 

I pull back even more until I can fully see your face. There are few sights in the world that please me more than the look of you after you have been thoroughly kissed by me. I find it immensely satisfying to leave my mark on you, swollen lips, heavy lidded eyes, reddened cheeks. 

You sigh again, but this sigh is one of pleasure. You are a true hedonist when it comes to touch. You love it. Crave it. It makes us a perfect match in that respect because I do too. Love it, crave it. Love you. Crave you.

I hold you tightly and we stay silent for a few minutes, hands barely moving, just enjoying our bodies being close. I wait for it, knowing that you do not like to leave anything unfinished, even one of my stories. Ah, there it is: a slight jab in my side. I laugh softly, loving that I know you so well, you who are so unknowable by almost everyone else.

You exhale an exasperated breath and I decide to have mercy on you. After all, I was the one who wanted this story told. I raise myself up on one elbow. "Where was I?"

"Me being invisible."

I think for a moment. "Right. Do you remember that day?"

You shake your head against my side. Your hair tickles me. "No. Most of my days were similar to this." 

I wonder if you'll remember when I tell you the next part. I hope so. It was a day that changed my life for the better in every way a life can be improved. "You were walking down 5th Avenue, approaching 58th Street and you suddenly stopped, right in the middle of the sidewalk. I looked around to see what had made you stop, looking for signs of danger, but then you started up again and crossed the street."

You roll away from my side and look up at me. "FAO Schwartz?"

I nod. "It had grown quite late at that point and there wasn't the usual throng of spectators standing outside the window. I watched as you stood in front of one of the windows; it was the one with all the stuffed bears having a Christmas fete. You stood there for the longest time." The memory squeezes my heart. Not that particular moment, but what you did next.

"As I watched you, I found myself feeling annoyed. I started putting thoughts in your head, thoughts that were unflattering to this country, that belittled its crass use of its wealth, a country that flaunted stuffed bears in windows that seemed better fed than many of the people in the world. I saw you choosing sides, and that you were finding little to recommend this country."

Your eyes are forgiving. "It was not such an unreasonable assumption on your part, given how often I chide you about American decadence."

I grin down at you. Yes, you did complain about it, still do, and then you go and take hot showers, and eat éclairs, and buy bomber jackets made of leather so soft it feels like satin. But I am thankful that you understand why I thought those things of you. I continue the story, as I am getting to the most important part. "I almost turned to go, convinced I was making the right decision, that Oberson would suit me better than you, but for some reason I couldn't leave. I leaned against the building and waited."

I reach down and brush your bangs to the side. "You put your hands up on the window." I demonstrate, sitting up in bed, putting my hands up like a mime, pressing against an invisible barrier. "And then you rested your forehead on the glass. And you just stayed there, staring in, as if--" My heart feels that squeeze again.

"As if what?" You are staring up at me, your eyes so clear, so blue, and I realize with a start, a little sad.

I clear my throat, amazed at the power this memory has for me even after all this time. "As if those bears had something you didn't. As if, if you'd been able to, you would have stepped through that glass and joined them. As if you didn't understand how your life had come to this, how you came to be in this country, so far from home, from friends, from family. As if, maybe, just for a moment, by staring at those bears, you might be able to remember happier times and not feel so lonely." My voice has grown thick and I sniff. Foolishness, I know.

You sit up as well, and I know you want to comfort me, even though I still see the sadness in your eyes. You cup my cheek with your hand and lean forward to kiss me before pulling me into a hug.

I let you hold me for a few minutes. Even though it was a long time ago, I don't like to think of you being so unhappy. "You remember that night now?"

I feel your nod against my shoulder. "You asked me the next day to be your partner." 

I pull back. "Was I right? Is that what you were thinking?" 

You rest your forehead on my chest. "It was a bad night."

I hold you tightly. "Was I right?" I won't mind if I'm wrong. I'd be glad to let go of that picture, that image of you being so sad it still has the strength to bring a sting of tears to my eyes several years after the fact. But I don't think I am wrong.

You pull away. Your eyes are bright and they speak of sorrow. You nod. "I was very lonely." After a few moments you wave a hand in the air as if to banish the specters of the past. "But then the next day you came and asked if I would be your partner."

You've now said that twice, and it tells me something important. It tells me that the evening I am reminding you of isn't important in and of itself. It is important only because of what happened the next day. That alone makes it memorable. 

I feel a moment of intense regret for the life you led, because what that means is that as lonely as you were, as unhappy as you were that night, it was just a day like so many countless others. I swear to myself that you won't ever have another day like it. "Yes. The next day I asked if you'd be my partner."

"Why?" Your finger touches the cleft in my chin, follows the smile lines that run along the sides of my mouth. "Why did you ask? Why did seeing me at FAO Schwartz make you suddenly want me for your partner?"

A reasonable question. "It put a different interpretation on everything. And I--" I lean forward for a kiss. "I think I fell in love with you right then and there. Even if it took me a little while to figure it out."

Your smile and the happy gleam in your eyes tell me that you like my answer. "Tell me the rest."

I snicker at you. "You know the rest. You were there."

"Tell me anyway." Despite your amazing ability to brood, you are a true sucker for a happy ending. You lie down again, staring up at me, a vision of gold and blue, impossible to resist. 

I, long ago, lost the ability to deny you anything, at least when it doesn't imperil your life. "You stared in that window until I thought my toes and fingers were going to get frostbite from the cold, but finally you left and went home. The next day I found you down in the lab." 

I smile at the memory; a much easier one to remember. "You had your glasses on, and your nose was buried in a book. I knocked on your door and you looked up at me, with this grumpy frown on your face."

You scowl at me, but it is not your best effort. "You were the fifth person that morning to bother me about something."

I give you a mock look of sympathy. "You took off your glasses and snapped at me: 'What do you need?'" I grin down at you. "It almost made me change my mind."

Your eyebrows furrow. "Did it really?" I catch a note of anxiety in your voice, as if you are suddenly realizing how close a thing it was, how easy it would have been for this particular future to not have come true if you'd put me off with your officious tone.

I shake my head. "No. I'd seen through the cold charade and short of shooting me, or turning down my request, there was nothing that was going to deter me from my mission."

You look relieved but then flash me a naughty smile. "You have always been a tenacious agent." You tug at my hand, lace your fingers through mine. "Then what?"

I laugh at you, at this desire of yours to hear from me how our partnership began. "I didn't waste any words. I just asked you. 'Will you be my partner?'"

You let out a long breath, and your body relaxes, as if somehow the words made it all true, that what you thought had happened to you really did happen. "Then what?"

I laugh again. "You said yes. And then asked me to go away because you were busy." I start to chuckle and lie down next to you. "Ah, Illya. I do love you. I loved you then, and I love you now."

You gaze at me for a long time, and I can see the love shining in your eyes, the peace, the belonging. I cannot tell you how happy I am that I was able to give you that. And I cannot tell you how overjoyed I am with what you give me in return. You bring my hand to your lips and kiss my knuckles. "I said yes."

I nod. "You said yes."

You let my fingers go and run your hand down my side, until it ends up resting on my hip. "I am very glad I said yes." Your hand slides down until you are cupping my genitals. You like to touch me there, even when we are not aroused. 

I don't mind. I love it whenever and however you touch me. "I am very glad too." Then I ask something I have always wanted to know. "Were you glad I asked?"

You look up at me. "Glad that you asked me to be your partner?"

I nod. I truly don't know the answer. I know you grew to appreciate me as your partner, and then as much more, but I still don't know what was going through your mind that day.

You give me a small smile. "Those bears? The ones in the window at FAO Schwartz having a Christmas tea party?"

Confused, but willing to wait for your point, I nod again.

The smile grows. "When you asked me to be your partner, it was just as you said, as if I'd been invited to join them. As if there might actually be a place for me, here, in this country so far from my home." Now you are giving me your most brilliant smile, the one no one gets to see but me. "I think I started falling in love with you at that very moment."

I laugh softly. "You sure had a funny way of showing it. All grumpy and growly."

The look you give me is condescending, my favorite Russian Czar look. "I was merely keeping up appearances."

I bark out a laugh. I adore you. I do. I lean in for another long and satisfying kiss.

You let out a sigh. "That was a very good story, Napoleon."

I smile. "I'm glad you liked it."

"But you left something out."

I frown at you, trying to think of what it could be. "What? What did I leave out?"

You roll your eyes. "How do all happy fairy tales end?" Your fingers are growing bolder, arousing.

I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of your clever fingers bringing my body to life. Then I smile, remembering what I forgot. "Ah. And then they kissed and they lived happily ever after."

Your lips cover mine telling me that I guessed correctly. I start to lose myself in it. After all, your kisses are not something to be taken lightly. As I surrender to your able touches, I find myself pleased with how this story was received by you. Maybe tomorrow I will tell another one. Or maybe I will get you to tell me one.

The End


End file.
